


Up To Here

by theimaginesyouneveraskedfor



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2019-02-02 09:58:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12724428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theimaginesyouneveraskedfor/pseuds/theimaginesyouneveraskedfor
Summary: The reader is a counselour to the king of Mirkwood but will her friendship with Bard sour her relationship with Thranduil more than ever?





	Up To Here

The short heels of your leather boots tapped jarringly against the stone floors of the palace, adding to the dread of your late coming. You were rarely less than early but you had found yourself entangled in a squabble between lords which had little to do with you in the corridors. Talking them down from a duel, you had finally escaped them and hurried onward, hoping you had not missed the arrival of your guests.

You entered the throne room, Thranduil pacing before his grandiose seat with his arms crossed behind his back. Several of his advisors stood patiently in a line on either side of the chamber and your own place awaited you among them. The king stopped at your appearance and you saw the irritation sparkle in his pale eyes. As you approached, he ceased his pacing and stood to meet you.

“You’re late,” He examined you meticulously, nearly causing you to squirm, “Our guest should be here at any moment…and was it necessary to dress as if we are to go to war?”

“Your majesty,” You met him in stride, “This is my usual attire,” You offered no other excuse, “And I apologize for my delay.”

“Mmm,” He looked at you derisively; as he often did. He always met your candour with spite and yet had never questioned your position as adviser. It was as if he found amusement in your obstinacy and kept you around only to test the limits of your tolerance, “Very well…though I would suggest more formal vestments for the night’s feast.”

“Very well,” You echoed him, and he dismissed you with a nod as you returned a bow before marching past him to your place among the other lords.

“My lady,” Lord Kalum greeted in his disproving manner, his more genuine than the king’s, “Were you caught up combing out your hair?”

“A mistake can be made once,” You countered under your breath so only he could hear, “But to make it incessantly is madness.”

The lord’s nostrils flared as he caught your meaning. Often, he had been the last to appear at counsel and worse, he often had not fulfilled the tasks assigned to him. If not claiming ignorance at their pertinence, he would present them in a state of disarray or with complete disregard. His place at the king’s hand was questionable, earned through the name of his father and even the king seemed aware of his shortcomings.

You played with the hem of your cloak anxiously, the embroidered hem hanging just below your waist. Your leggings were a lighter shade of fawn and your faded cerulean tunic added little to its effect. Your mail vest took the place of any jewelry and your leather boots, despite being polished, showed scuffs across toe and heel, setting you in poor contrast to the rest of court.

You cared little for it had been your military stratagem which had gained you fellowship on the king’s counsel and not the deeds or riches of your family. The thread of your tunic or shine of your boots was little concern when you had the king breathing down your neck.

A parade of footsteps echoed from the corridors and all looked up as the king, who had once more took up his pacing, stilled himself before the steps of his throne. The guards standing vigil outside the opened double-doors announced the arrival of your guests with the clang of their staffs against the stone floor. The air stilled as all inhaled as one, holding their breaths with apprehension.

The dark-haired king of Dale, formerly bargeman and slayer of Smaug, entered without pretense. He was a stark contrast to the elven king awaiting him. Bard wore no crown and no rings on his fingers. His overcoat was neat and pressed, but bore little adornment; a simple emerald silk lined with silver along collar and cuff. His brown eyes stared sternly ahead as the elven king opened his arms in welcome.

“King Bard,” Thranduil announced, “It is an honour to have you here in Mirkwood.

“King Thranduil,” Bard’s voice was even, “Let’s not play at formalities. We both know why I am here and I’d rather have it done with sooner than later.”

“You’ve always been so plain with your words,” You could hear the smirk in Thranduil’s words, “And I would agree with you. I am most anxious for us to come to terms. An alliance between our two kingdoms would do both well.”

“It would,” Bard remained unflinching.

Behind the human king, his men had formed two lines, before them, three smaller figures stood in disarray. Two adolescents, a boy and girl, held back a younger child while uttering whispers for her to quiet. You recognized the blond hair of Bard’s eldest daughter as she leaned over to still her younger sister who broke free from her grasp.

“Y/N,” Tilda sang as she stumbled past her father who turned to catch her before she could go further, his kingly veneer softening to that of parent, “Da, Y/N’s here!”

“I know, I know,” He voice was gentle as he held her by her shoulders, kneeling to look her in her eyes, “You can say hello later, alright? But first we must see to some business. You go with your brother and sister and I promise you, you’ll have your chance later.”

“I–” Tilda glanced over your father’s shoulder and you smiled at her with a nod, “Fine. I’ll wait.”

Bard released his daughter he dragged her feet back to her siblings and the king turned back to the elven court. “My apologies, our travels have been long and my children are restless.”

“Not at all,” Thranduil waved away his excuse and you could hear the subtle change in his tone. There was a brittle tone which overcame him when he thought of his own child and you knew the familial scene before him brought Legolas to mind, “I will have an attendant show you to your chambers so that you may have your children settled and we will await you in council.”

“Thank you,” Bard raised his chin, “I’ll be with you shortly.”

A guard approached the group of men, several others appearing to their rear and they began to instruct the guests on where to go, waving them through the doors. Their voices filled the chamber and buzzed into the hallway as they led the entourage away. The court released its collective breath as the king turned back and traipsed up to his throne, draping himself across it with a sigh.

“Go,” He flicked his fingers towards his lords and yourself, “Prepare the council chambers.” He closed his eyes as you began to shuffle away with the rest of his advisers, mumbling “your majesty” as they made to leave. “Y/N, if you would remain for just a moment.”

You stopped short of the door and turned on your heel, the lords of the court passing you; Lord Kalum bearing a smug grin. “We’ll see you in council, I hope.” He mumbled tauntingly and you gave no sign of hearing him. You looked up at the throne where Thranduil lounged, eyes still closed, his elbow leaned against one arm of the chair and his leg across the other.

“Y/N,” His voice was low yet filled the chamber as the noise of the lords faded in the corridors, “Tonight, we have a feast. A formal affair,” He opened his eyes, looking over at you lazily, “I would expect you to leave the mail behind.”

“Of course, your majesty,” You accepted, “Not a piece of armour, I swear it.”

“Mmmhmm,” Once more his eyes traversed the length of your figure with censure, “A gown would be fitting. It is not council nor campaign, I expect a proper lady of the court.”

“A gown?” You couldn’t help the anxious mumble, “Yes, your majesty.”

“I’ll have something arranged for you,” He said as if he knew there was not a single skirt in your closet, “There must be a piece of silk in this kingdom which would fit you finely.”

You nodded your ascent and waited for his next order, but he merely closed his eyes and let his head fall back against his throne. “You may go.”

Pursing your lips, you pronounced a final obeisance and turned, striding to the door with intent. You would be best to get to council before Kalum set the other lords to discontent.

* * *

Council had gone late. All your efforts to keep Thranduil from his wild expounding and Kalum from his inane interruptions had failed. A knock at the door confirmed your suspicions of the wasted time and a mutual sigh came from every man and elf in the chamber. Your shoulders were stiff and your legs cramped and you were certain you wouldn’t have the time to prepare for the evening’s event.

“We shall continue our discussions tomorrow,” Thranduil stood and looked around blandly, “Bard, I will see you at the feast shortly and do hope I’ve not kept you too long from your children.”

Bard rose, his men following suit, and led his party from the room with a curt farewell to the elves. You stood with the lords of Mirkwood and stifled a yawn as they patiently waited their turn to escape. Kalum was the first, his face blotchy from his blustering and the others whispered under their breath about his rambling manner. You chose to keep your grievances to yourself despite being the target of his scorn. For every word he offered, he had countered, even if it made him appear as incompetent as he truly was.

“Y/N,” Thranduil once more kept you from retiring. With the same reluctance you turned, approaching the table with a placid gaze and setting your fingertips atop it anxiously, “Your majesty?”

“I hope you haven’t forgotten our earlier discussion, I’ve had proper attire delivered to your chambers and I expect you to make good use of it,” He tilted his head, his lips curling slyly as he conjured his next barb but he was silenced by a knock at the door.

You turned, the door still half-open and Bard waited expectantly, nearly out of breath. “Y/N, you’re still here.”

“I am,” You greeted him cordially, “Have I forgotten something?”

“Tilda,” He smiled, the first he had done since his arrival, “She wanted me to make certain you would be at the feast. I promised her you would, but she wanted me to confirm with you…she’s very persistent for her age.”

“She was just on her way to prepare,” Thranduil answered for you, his robes issuing a subtle whoosh as he rounded the table, “A feast for two kings is a special occasion.”

“I suppose it would be,” Bard briefly looked to the elven king before back to you, “And we’ve much to catch up on as well. If I can get you away from my daughter, that is.”

Bard offered his hand and you took it kindly, “We’ll get our chance,” You promised, and he squeezed your hand, “And you can once more regale me with the tales of your dragon slaying. You know, I do so enjoy that little caper. And you tell it wonderfully.”

The King of Dale sensed your jape and chuckled. He despised that the dragon still loomed over his person and to hear him recount the tale was less than fanciful. As you recalled, his account was barely more than “I shot an arrow.” You laughed and rescinded your hand with a bow of your head.

“I’ll see you tonight,” You looked between him and the elven king whose expression had grown dark. He always had difficulty when not at the crux of a conversation, “Your majesties,” You turned once more to Bard, “If you would excuse me, it is getting late and I’ve already been late once today. I would not care to make the same mistake twice.”

“As you will,” Thranduil turned away, his hair sweeping through the air, “Bard, perhaps when my adviser reunites with your daughter, we may do the same.”

“Certainly,” Bard accepted and stepped back, gesturing for you to exit ahead of him, “I’ll accompany you along the way?’

“Sure,” You resisted peering back at Thranduil, eager to be free of the rising tension, “I think we’re headed in the same direction.”

With that, Bard followed you through the door and you left the elven king to his indignation. Thranduil was easy to displease and yet, there was a suddenness to his irritation that made you wonder. It could not have been the mere re-appearance of the human that had set him to malcontent.

* * *

You felt like a fool. The dress you wore was deep red speckled with flowers embroidered in golden twine. You pulled at the long sleeves, longing to hide your face behind them and struggling to keep them off your plate. The rich fabric felt too light, the absence of mail a foreign sensation. You were suspicious that Thranduil had chosen the ostentatious gown as a joke.

The music of harps and flutes droned in the background as you sipped from your wine, your second glass that night. You had not realized until the dregs of the latter that you had drank so much. Caution flickered in your mind but you really had no desire to be completely sober after such a long day.

You began to reach for the ewer of golden wine but stopped yourself as a clutter of footsteps trampled up behind your chair. You knew, before pushing back your chair to greet your visitor, who it was. Tilda nearly jumped into your lap and threw her arms around you, the small girl forgetting the time you had been apart.

“Y/N,” She trilled, “Da said I had to wait until I finished eating. But now I’m done!”

“Really?” You humoured her and looked up as her father approached from the end of the table, unable to keep up with his daughter, “You’ve gotten taller.”

“Not really,” She shook her head, “An inch maybe. I’m still the smallest, you know.”

“Well, I was small once too and now look at me,” You pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, “It takes time. And humans grow faster than elves.”

“Y/N,” Bard stopped just beside your chair, a hand on Tilda’s shoulder, “Sorry about that, she got out of my reach.”

“No, it’s quite alright,” You smiled at the girl, “I’ve been waiting all night to see Tilda.”

“Really?” Tilda’s eyes gleamed with wonder, “Me?”

“Of course, when your dad told me you were so eager to see me, I couldn’t wait,” You leaned your arm against the table, “And I take it you’re,” You looked up at Bard, “Avoiding Thranduil?”

“Is it that obvious?” He quirked his lips.

“You better go see him,” You warned, “I’ll look after Tilda while you do, don’t worry. But he’s not very patient,” You brushed away your sleeve as it once more got in your way, “Trust me.”

“You’re probably right,” He reluctantly dropped his hand from his daughter’s shoulder, “You sure you got her?”

“Certain,” You promised, “Now go. I’ve got much to talk about with Tilda.”

You watched Bard walk away and could have laughed again at him. The two kings were great allies but when it came to politics, they were close to enemies. You turned back to Tilda and poked her arm gently, “So, what have you been up to since I last saw you?”

Tilda lit up now that she had your attention and you listened intently as she began to describe her life as a princess. When you had first met her, you had barely kept an orc’s attack alongside her siblings. When the battle had ended, you had helped care for her and the other young survivors in Dale. You had formed a bond with many of them but Tilda had never left your side. You had almost forgotten the joy of having her around but it was just what you needed at that moment.

* * *

When Tilda had run back to her siblings, you searched the hall for her father. You had hoped for a chance to speak with him before the night was over. Perhaps a trip to Dale was in order. A vacation from your life as the king’s adviser. It had been much too long since you had seen the endearing family and you did not want another such delay in your meeting.

Your eyes settled on the empty chair at the head of the royal table where Thranduil had sat the last you had glanced over. You searched the great hall for a hint of either king, the dark-haired regent of Dale also conspicuously absent. It would be simple enough to accept that they had excused themselves for some diplomatic discussion and yet your mind told you otherwise.

Along the tables, every advisor and counselor remained in their seat, most of them too intoxicated to notice their king’s disappearance. You rose, subtly, careful not to draw attention as you crossed the large banquet hall. The doors, not far from the royal dais, was slightly ajar and you slipped through swiftly, the raucous din from the dinner guests disguising your departure.

Lanterns lined the wall, setting the thicket of Mirkwood’s corridors in flickering light. You edged forward, a foreboding urging you to return to the feast, but your curiosity got the best of you. _Were you not the king’s counselor? Was it not your duty to tend to the realm’s business and see that he maintained good relations with his allies?_

Behind you, the cacophony of voices faded and your elven hearing caught on the hushed tones not far from you. The door of king’s solar was open, shadows cast across the oaken surface from within. You kept your footsteps light as you near, pressing yourself to the wall as you eavesdropped.

“Perhaps it would be wise that you visit Dale,” Bard offered, “The city has been slowly restored, thank to your aid, yet my people are still suspicious of elves…They’ve heard tales of your dealings with Erebor.”

“Dale?” Thranduil uttered with reluctance, “I’m busy enough as it is with my own kingdom. I cannot see any good to be had of it.”

“None at all?” Bard uttered dryly, “No, you wouldn’t.”

You could imagine Bard scratching his stubbled jaw as he glared dully at the elvenking and the nonchalant indifference of Thranduil as he shrugged off the suggestion. It comforted you to know they discussed royal business though you expected no less. While the two had made strong allies, they had not been agreeable in every sense.

“I wonder, however,” Thranduil’s voice kept you from sneaking away; something in his tone held you in place, “At the motives behind your little invitation…” Your spine went rigid with apprehension. It was just like the elvenking to dismantle all your careful negotiating, “You and Y/N are rather amicable.”

“She’s an amicable elf,” Bard allowed, “I don’t see the relevance of our relationship.”

“Relationship?” You could hear the rise of Thranduil’s thick eyebrow, “And what would be the manner of that relationship?”

“Friends,” You heard movement and against your inner caution, you tiptoed closer and peeked into the solar. Bard has stood from the chair he sat in and stared down the elvenking as he leaned against his desk, his eyes cool but discerning, “I cannot see why you would be so concerned.”

“She is my counselor, one of my wiser ones, and I am curious…I would not wish to lose her,” You were surprised by the admission but there was still much Thranduil did not say.

“I have no intent on depriving you of your counselor,” Bard said grimly, “Whatever concerns you harbor are better addressed with Y/N herself…I suspect you’ve much to say to her.”

“Meaning?” Thranduil pushed himself away from the desk and you retreated out of his view.

“Well, I cannot be quite sure what I mean,” Bard was being sly, “For I cannot begin to guess at your machinations. Whatever it is you harbor for your counselor? Grudge, yearning, or otherwise.”

“I do not appreciate whatever it is you’re implying, and I certainly do not appreciate your little rapport with Y/N,” Thranduil bristled and Bard chuckled almost indiscernibly.

“I think I know what you don’t appreciate and trust me, you’ve misread the situation, I’ve no interest in Y/N which would stray anywhere beyond platonic. I daresay my children like her more than I do,” You could hear the unrepentant mocking in the human’s voice and feel the unwavering tension radiating from the elf.

“I’d agree,” You spoke up as you stepped fully into the doorway before Thranduil could think to throttle Bard, “I do so prefer your children to their father.”

You and Bard exchanged smirks and Thranduil brimmed as he looked between you. Finally, you turned to him directly and crossed your arms. “I suspected you two had wandered off but I had expected you to be discussing more pertinent business.”

“My counselors are pertinent,” Thranduil grumbled defensively, “Their behavior,” He shot you a sharp glare, “Should concern me. Colluding thus—”

“Diplomacy not collusion,” You corrected as you entered slowly, “Though it would seem you’re lacking in such as you insist upon arguing with and before our honored guests.” You nodded towards Bard who was no longer amused but visibly uncomfortable.

“Um, I’m going to…leave,” The king of Dale retreated as he backed away from you, “I really don’t think this is about me.”

“You’re right, it’s not,” You snarled, not looking away from your own king, “I suspect Thranduil has much to say to me. I’m certain your time would be better spent with your children.”

“That it would,” Bard grumbled as his footsteps hurried for the door, continuing into the corridor without delay.

The silence mixed with impenetrable tension as you once more found yourself facing down the unbending elvenking. His silver eyes flashed, though his malice was laced with another covert emotion;  _shame, resent, or arrogance?_  You exhaled heavily, trying to formulate your thoughts so that you did not undo all your hard work in one sentence. You were annoyed, and rightly so, with Thranduil but it did not surpass the laws of treason.

The king spoke first, “What are you doing eavesdropping on your own king?”

“You’re ridiculous,” You spat without restraint, “I was merely looking for Bard—”

“And what fascination have you formed with this man, hmm?”

“Do not presume to interrogate me,” You hissed, “And how you spoke to him. You lecture me on propriety and carry on thus?”

“You hold no reign over me. You overreach yourself,” He stepped closer, but you gave no ground, dropping your arms in a sign of defiance, “You are my counselor and nothing more. Continue down this path and you shall be even less.”

“I think that sounds lovely,” You countered wryly, “Anything is preferable than serving one so ungracious.”

“Pardon me,” His tone turned trite, “I should dismiss you here and now.”

“Go on and do it,” You retorted, “Better yet, I’ll resign.”

Thranduil raised a single brow as he pressed his lips together in derision. He stared you down as you refused to show any hesitance. You held his eyes, glowering back at him as you watched the play of anger colour and pale his face.

“You—you—” He spluttered as he broke from his furious, “Are…impossible!”

Suddenly, he lunged for you and you were certain he was about to strangle you. Instead, his hands entwined in your hair as he gripped your jaw and brought his lips to yours. You stumbled in surprise, backpedaling with him attached to you until you were stopped by the wall. He pressed up against you as you stood paralyzed between him and the wall.

Finally, he pulled away, looking down at you startled, his cheeks scarlet and eyes widened. “Y/N, I—I’m sor—”

“Quiet,” You seized his collar and pulled him back to your lips, the hatred which had broiled within you having heated to lust. The moment he had retreated you knew you wanted it as much as him and you were done arguing with him.

Your fingers fumbled with the buttons of his collar, working your way down his robe before pushing it open to feel the taught muscle hidden beneath. His hands ran around your back, tugging at the laces blindly as he crushed you against the wall. His lips left yours and he left a trail of sharp nibbles and hungry kisses down your neck.

Your bodice fell slack and sagged down your torso as he guided it over your shoulders, uncovering the thin shift you wore beneath. Raising his head, he looked down at your half-shed dress and desire flared in his eyes. He curled his lips ravenously and pushed the sleeves down your arms and the forced the fabric down your waist until it fell to the floor of its own accord.

He slid his arms out of his robe easily as you felt along his firm chest, your own vision hazed with longing. You traced the lines of his muscles with your fingertips as he tore the collar of your shift, causing you to curse at him before he silenced you with his lips. You reached the belt of his pants and swiftly unknotted his trousers, grazing your fingers across the fabric deliberately, teasing the bulge rising within.

He groaned and dug his nails into your side, gripping your hips as he tried to devour you. You edge his trousers down around his thighs, freeing his member as you began to stroke it slowly so that his suffering grew. He removed his mouth from yours, breathing heavily as he tried not to moan. You ran the tip of your tongue along his neck and he grabbed a handful of your hair, pulling back your head roughly.

“You’re the fucking worst,” He rasped as you grinned up at him, reaching lower to tickle him and watching as he shuddered helplessly, “Ah.”

“Shut up and fuck me.”

You took his member firmly and led the tip towards your sex, running it along your nub and basking in the sensation it sent through you. You continued to tease yourself with Thranduil’s head, hooking a leg around him as you guided him to your entrance. With a sigh of relief, he pushed into you and you let out a low moan.

He thrust into you to his limit, keeping a slow and melodic pace as he worked against you. His hand slid down to your bottom, his nails cutting into your flesh as his other cupped your breast. You pulled at his hair as you tried not to whine and longed for more. You tried to urge him closer and he purred as he held your bottom with both hand, lifting you up to wrap both legs around him. You must have looked ridiculous in nothing but stocking and slipper.

He buried himself into you sharply as he steadily quickened his pace and you arched your back in response. He pressed you harder against the wall as his mouth found your breast and he teased your nipple with his tongue as you unwittingly began to moan in rhythm with his thrusts. You clutched at his shoulders as you began to pant, the heat building and spreading through you. You could feel the tickle starting and the pressure built to peak, your orgasm erupting within you as you trembled and whined.

Thranduil brought his head up as he watched you spasm and his thrusts flurried before he suddenly cried out, closing his eyes as he pulled out of you and his seed spurted out on your stomach. He kept you aloft as you looked up at him, the shock of what you had just done poking through your lusty daze. Even so, you cared little for the reverberation still tingling down your thighs.

“Am I still dismissed?” You asked mockingly.

“I’ve yet to decide,” He set you down as he looked you up and down, “Get on the desk.”

You rolled your eyes and smirked at him, slowly pushing yourself away from the wall, the beating of your heart slowing. You turned as you reached the desk, watching Thranduil as he held up his loose trousers and closed the door. You hoped no one had stumbled upon your impromptu meeting.

“Well,” You hopped up on his desk, removing your slippers and stockers cloyingly, “Ready to get to work?”


End file.
